


hold my heart

by DizzyRedhead



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feeding people is a love language, Getting Together, M/M, Soft Hockey Boys, fight me on this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11815017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead
Summary: or, You'd Totally Bake For MeWhen Nursey is feeling low, it's not Bitty who brings him baked goods.





	1. Dex's POV

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shellybelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellybelle/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Shelly! This is a drop in the bucket compared to all the amazing fics you've graced us with, but I hope you enjoy it!!!
> 
> Title from ["Arms" by Christina Perri, because that song gives me SUCH NurseyDex feels that I will mine it for fic titles forever.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeW0Sl0tNS8)

_ Nursey just texted me that he really needs "baked goods" this afternoon. I wonder why he's having a bad day? _

When the tweet pops up on Will’s timeline, he’s just gotten out of his last class and is a good ten minutes away from the Haus at his normal walking pace. He makes it in four. Okay, it could have been three, but he didn’t want to alarm anyone, bursting into the Haus red-faced and out of breath, so he slowed down as soon as he rounded the corner onto Jason Street, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth to regulate his heart rate. Which turns out to have been a waste, because the Haus is empty, and he has to dig the spare key out of its super original hiding place inside the flower pot. At least it’s not literally under the mat anymore. Jesus

He expects to find Bitty in the kitchen, even though the doors were locked and there was no answer to his knock, but it’s also empty. He stands there for a minute, hesitating over his next step, then fishes his phone out of his pocket, taps out a text to Nursey.  _ What’s up? _

He waits impatiently for a response, forcing himself to solve two levels in Kami before flipping back to his texting app and trying again.  _ Dude, Bitty said you texted him. Are you okay? _

The little dots dance up and down, disappear, reappear, disappear again. Finally, a response pops up on his screen.  _ No big. Just _

The dots come back.  _ Just homesick, I guess. Wanted some comfort food. I forgot Bits had a midterm today. _

_ Wanna hang out/watch something?  _ Will texts back before he can think better of it. Maybe Nursey wants to be alone. Maybe he wants to hang out with someone else, someone easier to be around, someone who’s actually comforting--

_ Yeah, but I have one more class.  _ The response pops up before Will can spiral down any further.  _ Meet you at 4? _

The clock on the stove says 2:17.  _ Sure _ , Will replies, opening the cabinets with his other hand.  _ Your dorm?  _ Nursey usually likes to hole up in his own space when he’s feeling off, but not always, so it’s worth clarifying.

He gets a kissy-face emoji in response, but even while Will’s rolling his eyes, he can feel the fond smile on his face. Fortunately there’s no one else in the Haus to see and chirp him. 

If he needs to get to Nursey’s dorm by 4, there’s just enough time to throw something simple together. Will doesn’t want to use any ingredients that Bitty had specific plans for, but there are some staples always on hand in the Haus kitchen--although to hear Ransom and Holster talk, that was not usually the case before Bitty’s reign. But Nursey doesn’t like the fancier concoctions as well, anyway, so it works out. Everything Will needs is here.

Within fifteen minutes, the first pan of snickerdoodles is in the oven and Will is preparing the second, letting himself enjoy the mindless task, the soothing, repetitive motion of rolling the dough between his palms to shape the balls, making sure they’re evenly covered in the cinnamon sugar and spacing them just so on the pan. 

He leaves about half of them on the cooling racks with a note indicating that they’re up for grabs; most of the people who live in the Haus will be back from their classes soon, so the cookies probably won’t even have time to cool completely before they’re inhaled. 

The other half he packs carefully into his backpack and slips out of the Haus with enough time to spare to swing by Annie’s and pick up Nursey’s ridiculous hipster coffee order. In decaf, of course; by general team edict, Nursey isn’t allowed to have caffeine after 2 pm except in cases of emergency or finals week.

He feels stupid, reciting the order with its excessive adjectives to the barista, especially since he knows it by heart. But making sure his d-man is okay is the important thing here, so Will accepts the little paper cup and does his best to act like he isn’t running away as he slips out the door and heads for Nursey’s dorm.

“Come in,” Nursey yells when he knocks on the door. When Will pushes it open, it takes a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, the room lit only by the gold-shaded lamp on Nursey’s desk. 

Sure enough, Nursey has made himself a nest on his bed, curled up with a truly ridiculous number of blankets and pillows. “I’m fine, really,” he starts as Will slides his backpack to the floor. “It’s no big, you don’t have to--”

The flow of words cuts off when Will pushes the still-warm coffee into his hands. “Is this--”

“Large decaf dark chocolate soy mocha latte with a shot of hazelnut and whipped cream,” Will recites, unzipping his backpack and pulling out the plastic container of cookies. “No extra espresso for you this time, it’s too late. Rans and Holster would kick my ass. But I have snickerdoodles.”

Nursey looks at him, actually meets his eyes for the first time since Will came inside. There’s something there that Will can’t interpret. “I…”

Will waits for a few minutes, but no more words seem to be forthcoming, so he sits down on the edge of Nursey’s bed to untie his boots. “What are we watching? Or do you just wanna hang out?”

“I, uh--” Nursey fumbles his laptop out from under a blanket, coming precariously close to spilling his coffee, despite the lid. Will moves without thinking, wrapping his hand around Nursey’s to steady the cup. 

He looks up, checking to see if Nursey looks like he can handle a gentle chirp, but the words die on his lips. They’re so close, somehow. Close enough that Will could count the flecks of green and gold and gray in Nursey’s eyes, given enough time. Close enough to feel the air move when Nursey sucks in a breath. Close enough to smell the last, faded remnants of Nursey’s cologne or body wash or whatever, the faintly herbal scent Will can never place.

Will thinks, for a split second, about making the chirp anyway. About pulling back, pretending this moment never happened. About lying in his bed later, arguing with himself about whether or not he made the right choice.

But he’s not the only one involved here, not the only one to consider. “Nursey,” he says quietly, setting the coffee down on Nursey’s desk, but that doesn’t sound quite right. “Derek. Is--can I kiss you?”

Derek makes a soft sound, lets go of the cup and laces his fingers through Will’s. “Yeah,” he breathes, leaning just a little more into Will’s space. “I--yeah.”

Will’s free hand is shaking a little when he lifts it to cradle Derek’s face, soft skin under his fingers and the scratch of stubble against his palm. He leans in slowly, watching until the last second. He doesn’t want to miss anything--the flutter of Derek’s lashes as his eyes slide closed, the way his lips are slightly parted, the beating of his pulse at the base of his throat.

The kiss is hesitant, a tentative pressure of lips. Will pulls back a little, just to check, just to see, but Derek’s hand curls around the back of his neck, tugging him back in, kissing him a little longer. 

When Will sucks Derek’s lower lip into his mouth, Derek rewards him with an intake of breath and a soft sound in the back of his throat. It’s so good. Will wants to hear that sound over and over. He lets his mouth slip free from Derek’s, pressing a kiss to his jawline, then just below his ear, which is apparently another good spot, judging by the new noise he gets.

Will kisses that spot again, just because, letting his lips part, letting himself taste the skin there, before he lifts his head. “Derek,” he murmurs. The rest of the words get lost for a minute when he gets a good look at Derek. 

Derek always looks good; this is a fact of nature Will has had to accustom himself to over the last year and change. But this is a whole other level. Derek looks--soft, his face flushed, his lips wet and red from kissing, his body relaxed back against the blankets. Will wants to keep him like this forever, where the stress and strain of life can’t touch him, where his shoulders don’t tighten up, where he doesn’t have to press his lips together to hold back words that he doesn’t trust others to hear.

“Yeah?” Derek’s voice is lazy, his hand squeezing lightly around the back of Will’s neck. “‘Sup?”

It takes every ounce of self-control Will has not to just lean back in, to kiss him and kiss him and touch him, to find out exactly what kind of noises he can pull from Derek’s throat. But--this is important. He needs to do this right. “We should have dinner. Sometime. Like, a date.”

Derek blinks slowly up at him, the corners of his mouth curling up. “You want to date me?”

The heat spreads across Will’s face instantly, but he doesn’t look away. “Yeah. I want--” He rubs his thumb over the back of Derek’s hand where they’re still linked. “I want to do this right. I want to treat you right.”

“Okay,” Derek says easily, and Will lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Derek grins up at him, squeezing his hand. “But--”

Will knows that look. It’s the look that says Derek has an overly clever idea. This time, though, it might actually work out to his benefit. “But?”

“Well, I paid for your tacos last week because the truck couldn’t take a card,” Derek says, his smile widening. “And the last time we got pizza, you paid and I forgot to give you money. And today you brought me coffee. And cookies.”

“What’s your point?” Will asks, genuinely confused. 

Derek tugs him closer, close enough that Will can feel the warmth radiating off his body. “My point, Will--” his voice lingers over the name, like he’s savoring it “--is that if you look at it realistically, this is basically our third date.”

“I--” Will loses his voice momentarily when Derek closes the distance between them, tracing the shell of Will’s ear with his tongue. When he manages to speak again, it’s shaky. “I don’t think that’s technically--” Derek’s teeth close gently on his earlobe and Will shudders, sensation racing down his spine.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Derek says, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “If you want to take it slow--”

Will laughs a little, leaning back in to catch Derek’s lips with his. “We’ve been taking it slow for almost two years, Derek,” he murmurs, laughing again because the vibrations tickle between their mouths. “I’m in.”

They’re both laughing when Derek pulls him down into the blankets.


	2. Nursey's POV

Derek doesn’t know why he sent the text. He regrets it as soon as he does, but the world of technology means there’s no take-backs for his needy impulse decisions. The read receipt flashes on-screen almost instantly. Derek has to suppress the urge to fling his phone as far away as possible and pretend someone stole it.

_ Just one more class _ , he bargains with himself, trying to use the awesomeness of his African-American Literature and Culture seminar to break through the anxiety that’s vibrating through his bones, threatening to paralyze him.  _ Just one more, then you can go back and hibernate in a pile of blankets for the rest of the day. _

He makes himself take one step in the direction of the building, then another. One step at a time, talking himself through it with each one.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, breaking his concentration. He’s tempted to just ignore it, but Bitty will worry if he doesn’t text back. Might sic Ransom or Holster on him, and Derek doesn’t think he can take that level of attention right now. So he fishes the phone out, but it’s not Bitty at all. It’s Dex.  _ What’s up? _

And that--Derek can’t deal with Dex right now. Not when he’s so anxious that his fucking _ skin _ feels tender, like the wrong word or touch could peel it off and leave him naked and exposed. They’ve gotten better--they’ve gotten so much better, but when Derek’s like this he needs softness and gentleness. 

He misses home in that moment with an ache that transforms into the physical. Misses his mom’s loud laugh and laying his head in his mama’s lap while she runs her fingers through his hair. Misses Sunday breakfast with his dad and late nights gossiping with Farah while she paints his nails. 

He grits his teeth, shoves it down, and takes another step. Then another one. Just one more. 

His phone buzzes again, because William Poindexter is nothing if not a persistent motherfucker.  _ Dude, Bitty said you texted him. Are you okay? _

Derek sighs, starts typing a response, but  _ are you your d-man’s keeper?  _ is way too bitchy for when Dex is expressing genuine concern.  _ I want to go home _ is too honest, exposes himself too much.  Everything is wrong, too much, not enough.

_ No big. Just,  _ he finally types, bumping the Send button with clumsy fingers before he finishes typing. He scrambles to finish the thought.  _ Just homesick, I guess. Wanted some comfort food. I forgot Bits had a midterm today. _ There, that’s normal. Everyone gets homesick.

He’s about to tuck his phone away, continue his slow journey, when another message pops up.  _ Wanna hang out/watch something?  _

Derek is expecting to say no. Logically, why would he say anything else? Except, actually, watching something sounds really good. He and Dex have surprisingly compatible taste in early-2000s movies and cartoons, and right now an evening spent watching  _ The Emperor’s New Groove _ or _ Spirited Away _ sounds like the next best thing to some Bitty baked goods.

_ Yeah, but I have one more class,  _ he texts back before he can overthink it.  _ Meet you at 4? _

_ Your dorm?  _ is the near-instant response. And that--Dex knowing that Derek likes to be in his own space when he gets like this--has a tiny smile tipping up the corner of his mouth.

Derek looks up and realizes that somehow, with the distraction of texting, his feet have carried him all the way to his classroom door. 

“Mr. Nurse,” Professor Johnson says, her braids swinging as she turns to eyeball him. “Why don’t you put that phone away and come join us?”

All Derek has time to send back is an emoji, but hopefully Dex will know that he means yes.

* * *

The high of the class discussion is enough to carry Derek most of the way back to his dorm, but by the time he pushes through the front doors, the anxiety has descended again. It’s a little easier to push himself toward his room, though, relief so close he can almost feel it.

He strips out of his jeans before the door is even fully closed behind him, kicking them to the side and pulling on his oldest, softest pair of Andover sweats in their place. His Samwell sweatshirt is fine, already soft after almost two years of washes, so he leaves it on as he crosses to his bed. 

His bed is already piled with blankets, because there are only two dorm temperatures and right now it’s at “arctic frigidity,” but he opens the storage drawer under the built-in bed and pulls out two more, the soft, plush throws type his family buys him for almost every gift-giving occasion. Once they’re spread on top of the blankets already there he curls himself under the whole mass, closing his eyes and letting the weight and the softness slow his breathing, his pulse.

He wishes he hadn’t agreed to meet Dex, thinks about texting to cancel, but his phone is in his jeans pocket, piled up next to the door. He’s still trying to convince himself to get out of bed and grab it when someone knocks on his door.

“Come in,” he yells. Maybe he can fake it enough to get Dex out of here, let him wallow in peace. “I’m fine, really. It’s no big, you don’t have to--”

Dex shoves something into his hands. Derek’s fingers curl around it automatically before he looks down to see that it’s a to-go cup from Annie’s. The warmth seeps into his fingers, so Dex must have just gone there on his way over. “Is this--”

“Large decaf dark chocolate soy mocha latte with a shot of hazelnut and whipped cream,” Dex isn’t even looking at him, unzipping his backpack and pulling out what looks like one of Bitty’s plastic storage containers. “No extra espresso for you this time, it’s too late. Rans and Holster would kick my ass. But I have snickerdoodles.”

Derek know’s he’s gaping, staring at Dex like he’s never seen him before. But seriously, it’s like Dex called his moms and got some kind of “How to take care of Derek” handbook. Wait, did he? Derek shakes himself, because Dex is still standing there. “I--” 

He can’t figure out how to continue. Fortunately, Dex doesn’t seem to mind, just sits down on the edge of the bed and starts untying his big, fuck-off work boots.“What are we watching? Or do you just wanna hang out?”

“I, uh--” Derek fumbles under his blankets for the laptop he left there after binge-watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine last night, only realizing his mistake when the coffee cup tips precariously, irrecoverably toward his laptop. His whole body locks up, trying to stop the inevitable--and then Dex’s hand is there, warm and solid and wrapped around his, steadying the cup and moving it out of the danger zone.

Dex looks up, his mouth moving like he’s going to say something. He’s so close, and Derek sucks in a breath, forcing himself not to reach out, to close the distance between them. This is why he can’t be around Dex; he can’t stop himself from wanting things he’s never going to have and it  _ hurts. _

He’s trying to force himself to pull back, to put space between them, when Dex gently guides the cup over to sit more securely on his desk. “Nursey,” he says quietly, something in his voice Derek’s never heard before. “Derek. Is--can I kiss you?”

Derek can’t help the noise that escapes him, any more than he can stop himself from lacing his fingers with Dex’s. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice coming out high and breathy as he leans closer to Dex. “I--yeah.”

Dex’s mouth is soft on his, gentle. Almost hesitant. It’s so good, soft and easy in a way things have never been between them. It’s over too soon, before Derek is ready for it to be finish, so he pulls Dex back in, kissing him longer. It’s so good. So good when Dex pulls Derek’s lower lip gently into his mouth, kisses under his jaw, his ear, that Derek has to make noises, to let Dex know. Especially when he feels Dex’s tongue brushing over his skin, sending shivers dancing across it.

“Derek,” Dex--Will murmurs, lifting his head. He’s staring, but Derek doesn’t mind, not with the soft warmth filling his body. 

“Yeah?” Derek squeezes the back of Will’s neck. It feels good under his hand, warm skin and the close-cropped back of Dex’s hair. “‘Sup?”

Will is looking at him, and that’s comfort, too, his eyes glowing gold in the light of Derek’s desk lamp. “We should have dinner. Sometime. Like, a date.”

Derek can practically hear the needle-scratch in his brain, but he can’t stop himself from smiling. “You want to date me?”

“Yeah. I want--” Derek watches in awe as Will’s entire face and neck turn a soft, delicate pink, feels the slow drag of Will’s thumb across the back of his hand. “I want to do this right. I want to treat you right.”

“Okay.” Derek can feel the smile stretching his cheeks. He never thought this would happen, never thought it could be this easy. It won’t always be, he knows that, but right now it is, and he doesn’t want to wait. “But--”

Will arches an eyebrow at him, and oh, Derek is in deep, because that is somehow adorable. “But?”

“Well, I paid for your tacos last week because the truck couldn’t take a card,” Derek says, pulling Will a little closer. “And the last time we got pizza, you paid and I forgot to give you money. And today you brought me coffee. And cookies.”

The confused little wrinkle in Dex’s forehead is adorable. “What’s your point?” 

Derek can’t help but pull him closer still. Almost close enough to touch. “My point, Will, is that if you look at it realistically, this is basically our third date.”

“I--” 

Derek gives in to the pull between them, running his tongue around the pink-flushed edge of Will’s ear, smiling to himself when Will’s voice catches in his throat.

“I don’t think that’s technically--” 

Derek bites down gently, the soft flesh of Will’s earlobe firm between his teeth, Will’s body shuddering under his hands. It’s so tempting to keep going, to keep drawing those reactions out, but he pulls back to meet Will’s eyes. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If you want to take it slow--”

Will’s response is a laugh and a kiss, soft and sweet. “We’ve been taking it slow for almost two years, Derek,” he laughs again, a soft tickle against Derek’s lips “I’m in.”

They’re both laughing when Derek pulls him down into the blankets.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! If you like soft hockey boys and a basically random collection of content with a decent tagging system, [you can follow me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com)!


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